past tense
by inherwanderings
Summary: "Her breath catches in her throat, serpentine as it chokes her. She can't do this. She can't let herself think about that night when she has to bury her dead captain come morning." AU from season 2. Three-shot. For #CastleFanficMonday.
1. Chapter 1

AN: au where Castle takes the book deal back in season 2.

* * *

 _I guess tonight is one for remembering._  
 _I'm not one for past tense._  
 _You're still happening to me,_  
 _wherever you are._

 _-_ _Ramna Safeer_

* * *

The shards of glass piercing her fragile flesh barely register as the alcohol splashes against the marble of her kitchen counter. The sight of his name illuminated by her phone jabs at her fractured heart. The shrill noise accompanied by the blaring lights force her to reach forward, press accept, even as every cell in her body exclaims in protest.

It's the first thing she's felt in days. Most of the time she's numb, colorless.

She's beginning to feel like she has morphed into something cold, drifting, aimless. Destined to splinter and crumble on the ground. Like a snowflake.

"Hello?"

Her lips fall open as she stares at the grey bricks of her apartment. No words escape.

"Kate?"

Just the sound of his voice is enough to have the latent anger bubbling up. How dare he call her that? _Kate._ As if he never up and left almost a year ago. _To write a certain British spy._ As if he never gave her already wounded heart yet another scar.

What right does he have to call her _Kate_ when he never even bothered to reach out?

Until now.

Because Montgomery is dead.

"Kate, I am _so_ sorry." His hoarse voice punctures the slate of silence, which has shrouded her apartment since the day she collapsed into it after returning from the cacophonous hangar.

The hangar. Her eyes slam shut against the onslaught of images, trying in vain to shield her from the pain that she has lived through every night since then.

The desperation in her fingers as they scratch against her betrayer's chest feels like granting him the forgiveness he seeks.

The granite beneath her feet as she's dragged out by Esposito. His broken eyes imploring hers to keep silent as he supports her weight when her knees give out against the cool metal of the car.

The crimson pool around her fallen mentor, so jagged, so _profane_ , against the white of the tile.

" _Please_ , say something." A sniffle, a sigh. "Beckett, you're scaring me."

"Castle."

His name resonates through the walls, so foreign now. A year. She finds herself remembering that sometimes. He left a year ago.

Nikki wasn't extraordinary enough. _She_ wasn't extraordinary enough _._

"Castle, he's gone. Mont-"

She doesn't break.

She shatters.

Her chest caves in and she has trouble staying upright against the oppressing weight pushing her down to the floor. Pushing until her knees split on the broken glass. Her nails leave scorching trails down her neck as she tries to free herself from this phantom noose. _She can't breathe._ The lights are fading, the bricks are blurring.

He is dead. _He_ is gone.

She's dying.

"Beckett, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

His voice is a distant siren, distorted by the insidious commotion in her mind.

"Kate, breathe for me, okay? Please. We'll do it together. One breath in, like this. Let it out now, slowly. You can do this, Kate, I _know_ you can. "

Her body is suspended amidst the currents. His muffled voice is all she hears and she orients herself to it. He'll save her. He's here.

Except he's not.

"It's going to be okay, Beckett. I'm here."

"No…" she whispers. "No, you're not. And you haven't been in a long time, Castle."

She hears him release a sigh as she rights herself against her kitchen counter. Her knees are bloodied, and now the knobs from the cabinets are prodding at her spine, the ice of the metal seeping through the thin layer of cotton covering her frail body. She shudders.

" _Kate_."

"He bled out, _Castle_ ," she rasps. "For _me_. I told him I forgave him, had forgiven him, but he wouldn't listen. I tried, Castle. I –I tried to stop him. He just wouldn't budge. I swear he-"

"I know you did, Kate, shh. I know. It's okay. He knew. He knows now, wherever he is. It's not your fault. You hear me? It's _not_."

She wonders how she's managed so long without his voice, his words. They are a cooling balm against the raw, gaping wounds in her chest that have been weighing her down, infecting her mind, leaving her a withering mess on her bed at nights.

"I caught him, Castle." Maybe there is a cosmic answer as to why she keeps confessing her sins to this man, even when two continents and an ocean lay barrier between them.

"The man who killed my mom." She hears a gasp on the other side of the phone, imagines his eyes going comically wide as he stutters to find his next words.

"Did you, uh-did you find out _why_ he did it?" The restrained hunger in his voice slices through her receiver, and her body curls in on itself. Another person let down.

"Somebody paid him to do it. But I had to shoot him before I could find out who. He would've killed Ryan if I hadn't."

"I…" his voice peters out, and they are left with silence, broken only by their occasional heaving breaths.

She hears him sigh, frustrated with himself. "I don't know what to say."

"I dreamt about you that night," her head hits the cabinets as confessions float without her consent. "I dreamt that I was the one who was on the ground, dying. And that you came up to me and told me, 'stand up'. Because there was still work to be done. When I woke up that morning I just wanted to call you, but we hadn't talked in so long."

She shrugs to an empty apartment. She feels like a fool. She had spent half of the previous year convincing herself that she'd built things up between them in her mind. There was no real connection between them, no spark. She was just a source of inspiration. What they had was ordinary. A slightly, mutually-beneficial partnership, at best.

And one night of release for all the pent up heat smoldering between them, ending with her shoving him out the door at three a.m.

All of her efforts are unraveling in their vast, all-encompassing glory now.

"You should've called."

"I almost did. I must've picked up the phone a thousand times," she admits, fingerings outlining the bloodied glass jutting out of her knees. "But I couldn't do it. Why didn't _you_ call, Castle? It's Europe. Not Antarctica. You could've called, texted, e-mailed. Even a pigeon scroll would've been nice. Was our rel- _partnership_ nothing to you?"

"Of course not, Beckett, you _know_ that's not what it was. I heard about Josh. Ryan told me-"

"Oh, so you kept in touch with Ryan? I was the only one who you froze out, wasn't I?"

She brings the phone to her front when no reply comes her way, squints as the numbers indicating the call duration rush by.

"You said we were over, Kate. You pushed me out, said it was the right way to say goodbye. I... that night… I still think about it, you know? Never forgot."

Her breath catches in her throat, serpentine as it chokes her. She can't do this. She can't let herself think about that night when she has to bury her dead captain come morning.

She refuses to give herself the luxury of remembering the warmth that had radiated through his body moving against hers, cocooning them in her sheets, blissfully ignorant of the harsh morning that lay ahead. How his hands felt in her hair, twining till he had the assurance that she wouldn't disappear. How his thick digits had interlaced themselves with the dips between her ribs as he licked a fiery path up her sternum, setting her aflame-

"Beckett, I messed up."

The gravel of his timber erupts gooseflesh on her skin in its wake. She is powerless against the affect he has on her, always has been. Now, as memories of the passion that had bloomed between them play out in technicolor behind her shut eyes, it's takes every bit of resolve in her not to yell _it's okay, I forgive you. Come back. I want you..._

"Kate, you told me to go and I did. I was hurt and I let my ego take over, I'm _such_ an idiot. I shouldn't have left. I-"

She sighs in relief at his words, has waited for them for longer than she cares to admit. They were stupid, rash, lashing out against the hurt they'd inflicted since that night at the party.

 _Not enough character._

 _A better writer._

But she still isn't equipped to handle this turmoil tonight.

"I, uh, I don't have time for this. I can't do this right now. I have a funeral to be at tomorrow. I –I'll talk to you later."

She rushes out and cuts the call before his protests are even out of his mouth, slams the phone against the floor as if it burns.

There are tiny trickles of blood dripping down her knees where the glass is embedded in her flesh and she tends to it. Anything to get her mind off what tonight was, or what lies ahead in the morning.

* * *

She's greeted with a text when she opens her eyes to the sunlight saturating her room, and an involuntary smile flickers across her lips.

Even though their conversation was just short of a disaster, it had ignited something inside of her. Hope. a feral, treacherous thing, but there nonetheless. They had something worth fighting for.

 _My flight leaves at noon, I'll be there by tomorrow. I'm coming home, Kate. Just wait for me, okay? If you give me another chance, I won't let you go.  
Roy is proud of you. Never doubt that. You'll be amazing today, as usual. You can do this. _

He's managed to make the day she's been dreading a fraction more bearable without even being here.

The daze enveloping her doesn't disintegrate until she's at the podium reiterating the words the Captain had bestowed upon her.

"And in the end, the best you could hope for is to find a place to make your stand. And if you're very lucky, you find someone willing to stand with you."

For an instant, her thoughts circle back to _him_.He's coming back. _Home,_ he'd said.

 _I'm not letting you go._

The faint whispers of her heart says _they might still have a chance to dive in, be there for each other, make a stand._

A zip of electricity straight to her core brings her to her surroundings and she stumbles back. Her nerves are instantly fraying; there is so much incomprehension and chaos, so she finds solace in gravity. The blue of the skies carpets her vision; she finds it comforting. It reminds her of the eyes she had poured her soul into when he'd risen above her, kissing the flush tinting her cheeks, her neck, her heart, as his body moved with hers.

 _Castle._

Familiar faces crowd around, distraught evident in their weeping eyes. And all she can think about as the lights fade is that they are eclipsing the blue. She can't see him anymore. She _needs_ to see him.

"Cas… I – _Cassle_."

The syllables are entangled on her tongue; liquid fire flowing in her veins as the black engulfs her and his name becomes nothing but a silent scream echoing through her bones.

* * *

 _prompt: In 3x24, he didn't come back from their fight so he wasn't there at the funeral (or some other plausible reason for his absence) and didn't know she was shot until he gets a call from ryan half stuttering, half crying from the hospital saying that she passed out gasping castle's name._

* * *

AN: I hope you guys liked this. Feedback is always appreciated. :)

Ericka, i can't thank you enough. This story would be nothing without you. You're the best beta/sugar mama a girl could ask for.

twitter: inherwanderings  
tumblr: inherwanderings


	2. Chapter 2

There should have been signs.

There should have been some ominous change in the atmosphere to foretell this grotesque turn of events.

If the tales of epic romances and such are to be believed, he should've realized something was discordantly wrong, shouldn't he?

And yet, he's brought down to his knees on the white of the airport floor when Ryan's twenty-third call manages to catch him.

"Castle, thank god! Your phone was switched off for so long, I guess your flight just landed. Listen, you need to get here. There's so much blood –just, just get here, okay? Presbyterian. It's Beckett, she's been shot."

Shot.

She's been shot.

There were no signs.

The woman, whom he was in love with, whom he had pined for for the past year, had lain bleeding on the ground with a bullet in her body, and he'd had no fucking clue. He hadn't even been there, right next to her, where he belonged.

Her shadow.

The word is ash in his mouth.

For the millionth time since that night at her apartment, he curses himself for leaving. A trembling breath moves past his lips as he makes his way out of the terminal exit, searching aimlessly for a board with his name on it, his mind projecting images of what today would've been like if he'd stayed.

If he'd been her partner, her shadow.

He would've cradled the fragile column of her neck in his palms, smoothed the rebellious locks of hair back in their place behind the shell of her ear. He would thread their fingers together in a desperate attempt to tether her as her blood seeps out, spreading a death-like pallor over her skin. He would say to her all the things he's left unspoken for so long. He would foolishly put his heart on the line as hers stops beating.

 _I love you, Kate. Please don't leave me._

It's a mystery how his weak knees manage to strain his fumbling weight as he stuffs himself in the town car.

Alerting the redheads who are vacationing in the Hamptons of the incident still doesn't help the situation sink in.

 _Shot._

Despite his bribes to the driver, it takes them more than forty five minutes to get to the hospital -five more to locate the reception with his luggage hanging over his shoulder like dead weight.

"Kate. Detective. She's a –she's a detective. Katherine Beckett. She was brought in here an hour ago, maybe? Detective Beckett, where is she?"

"I'm sorry, sir, if you're not family, I can't divulge that information. Are you family?" the blonde at the desk questions.

"No, you don't understand. I need to see her, she-"

"Castle!" he whirls around to be faced with L.T., the man in his dress blues, distressed but apparently relieved at his arrival. "He's with us, Miss Johnson," he informs the nurse who shrugs before losing interest.

"Detective Ryan told me to wait for you here, in case you showed up," the officer states, as he navigates the floors and corridors till they reach the surgical ward. "It's good to see you again, man. Just hope it could've been under different circumstances."

He stumbles his way to the group huddled around the far end of the hallway, the strap of his carrier slipping from his shoulder, the thud echoing down the hushed hallway till all eyes are on him. The defeat pouring out of each one of them makes his chest clench, every breath like acid down his throat.

"Is she –no," he stutters, can't bare uttering those words. "How is she?"

No answer.

He should have expected hostility on his return from this close knit family he had once been a part of. Ryan looks relieved to see him, throwing a grateful, if hesitant, smile his way. Esposito sits beside a man who's frame is sagged to the point where he's almost out of the chair. Castle assumes he's Beckett's father. The grey doesn't shadow the strikingly familiar jaw line. The sunken eyes give up their quest and return to burning holes in the tinted carpet of the floor.

But it's the distrust in Esposito's that sets him on edge.

Lanie steps forth, smoothing her hands along the creases in the black fabric of her dress, tracking him with wary, misty eyes. He holds his breath as he waits for her to deliver the news that he's certain will splinter his world.

With just a foot of distance between them, she flings her arms around his neck, compelling his hands to lock behind her back as he shushes her on instinct.

"She'll be really happy you're here, Castle," her whispered words against his skin make him hug her tighter.

"Lanie, what happened?"enquires his hoarse voice, as they make their way to the nearest bench.

"Sniper. At the funeral. Shot her when she was –when she… She was still giving the eulogy, Castle," her words crack and he feels her slump against his shoulders.

"God, the look on her face," he hears her continue, and for a moment he wishes she wouldn't. Can't bear to imagine those haunting, green eyes widen as the burn of the bullet makes itself known. "She looked so surprised, you know? And she was all alone. We were seated and then Javi wouldn't let me go until it was certain the shooter wouldn't open fire again. Damn it, we should've been there."

He can picture it with quite ease, had perfected the craft of daydreaming about his muse over the year. He sees her standing on a podium in her uniform, which would've looked adorable on her, delivering words with a powerful cadence he knows she possesses, captivating any willful audience.

"Castle?"

He releases a confirmatory hum, as his head thuds against the blue veneer of the walls.

"By the time I got next to her, she was almost unconscious."

Why is she retelling this horrific tale to him in such detail? It's not possible for his heart to cleave any further.

"But she kept whispering your name, Rick."

He stands corrected.

His spine coils till his head is between his knees, a futile attempt to have the blood thaw and start meandering down his veins again. He's frozen.

She called for him.

As she lay dying on the ground, _alone_ , he was her last conscious thought, and he wasn't wasn't right next to her, where he belongs. Giving life to the words that have been etched in his soul since the first time she'd kissed him. Pressed him up against her door and plundered his soul with hers.

 _Stay with me, Kate. I love you. Please don't leave me._

The doctor's voice booms along the corridor, and it's time to find out if she did.

"Mr. Beckett?"

* * *

He trips on his clumsy feet, checks his reflection in the glass doors, and prepares himself for what lies on the other side.

The sight knocks the breath out of his lungs.

Even with the purple smudged beneath her eyes, only a frail paper gown covering her shallow frame, she manages to look like a bohemian beauty. He's missed her so much and it's making itself known as it manifests into a knot in his throat.

"Castle?"

The disbelief lacing her voice stings at his heart.

"You're here?" she squeaks, trying to sit up despite the binding restraints of the machines attached to her fragile body. Her fingers run through the fringing curls escaping from her messy French braid, her eyes running over him, lips parted in shock.

"And you're staring at me. I must look… really bad."

He shakes his head, hesitates to reply, can't form words around the lump in his throat. "No, I just. I never thought I'd see you again," he admits, moving towards her, defenceless against the pull she has on him. "I've missed those eyes."

The objects in question widen at his response, her cheeks streaking a few shades pinker.

He clears his throat, hoping to blow past his awkward exposure. "Hey. I, uh–heard you were opening a flower store, so I thought I'd pitch in," he offers as he places the carnations on the bedside counter and settles himself on the visitor's chair.

It elicits a reluctant smile on her lips and he wants to kiss its edges, frame it so it stays.

"They were all here when I woke up. I think they're mostly from the precinct. I don't think I'm going to live this one down, Castle."

"Oh, probably not."

She keeps stealing glances at him, her eyes flickering to his and then shying away. As if she can't believe he's really here. It hurts, somewhere deep inside, to know he furnished those seeds of doubt.

He'd once let her dictate the terms of their relationship -left when she said it was over, hadn't even tried to fight for it. For her.

He's not making the same mistake twice.

He gathers up his courage and tentatively moves his hand to hers, ghosting his pinkie along its contours. She shudders, as if burnt by his touch, hissing at the jarring movement it causes.

Not his finest moves, but at least he knows he still has the same effect on her as she does on him.

He offers a sheepish look when she glares at him through her tired eyes, biting her chapped lips to conceal the smile that's begging to be broken free.

Just as soon as it appeared, it vanishes right in front of him. The smile distorts till it's something solemn, _haunted_. He's left wondering if physical contact is too much, too soon. As innocent as it was.

"Castle, should you really be here?"

A chill climbs up his spine, his mind conjuring up doctor-boyfriends and disapproving fathers. He couldn't even hold the man's eyes yesterday, the grief in them was overpowering, contagious. Still can't fathom what his first lines to him should've been.

 _Hello, sir. I'm the guy who wrote a book about your daughter, looked into the case she'd begged me not to, slept with her, and then left to tour and write in Europe._

Instead, he'd chosen the coward's way out, shrunk into the background, avoiding any time alone with him.

As for the boyfriend, who has been suspiciously absent throughout this ordeal, he won't deny the jealousy but it tempers down to the fact that she deserves better.

She deserves someone who shows up, who keeps showing up, no matter the number of lands or oceans between them.

 _Someone like him._

"Is it Josh?"

She releases a frustrated growl, her head falling back to her pillow as she rolls her eyes at him.

"This is bigger than you being jealous of my ex, Castle," she smirks with a shake of her head, the words doused in familiar sarcasm.

 _Ex?_

"Pfft," he spits, going for nonchalant. "Me, jealous? Of someone who's Facebook profile says he likes to ' _jog_ for _fun'_? Yeah, fat chance."

A crinkling laugh peels out of her, illuminating her whole face, and the caged bird in his chest soars with pride. He put that there –the breathless, dazed look that she's donning, one that says _you're a goof._

"Ah, been stalking people, have we?" she smiles, eyebrows arching up in challenge. "I see Europe has done you some good. This what Black Pawn pays you for?"

He garners up his best boyish grin, accompanies it with a half-hearted shrug, earning another eye roll from her. Man, has he missed those.

After far too short a minute, her grin subsides, the encoring grief taking its place.

"There's a guy who wants me dead, Castle. This is hardly the time for you to come back, if ever… I. I don't know," she sighs, exasperated, indecisive.

"And you left. For Europe. You left and then you didn't come back." Her voice gets smaller after every syllable, fingers busy playing with the threads of the hospital sheets. It makes her appear so small, broken.

"It was just a fight, Castle. You didn't have to punish me for eight months with no calls or texts," she mumbles into the air, gaze flicking up to his, gouging for his reaction before shriveling back in her shell.

She's breaking his heart.

He remembers her floundering with the straps of her nightgown, trying to cover up what he had already seen and thoroughly ravished earlier in the evening. Her eyes never once met his after they'd glided back down from their mutual highs. Just a whisper of ' _you should leave now'_ thrown over the creamy flesh of her shoulder. He'd gaped at her, dumbstruck at her words as the moonlight illuminating her curves was shielded by the blue satin of her gown.

" _This was the right way to say goodbye. We're over, Castle. Go write your spy."_

A soft click of the bathroom door closing and she'd disappeared behind it before he could even comprehend her words.

"Kate," he drawls, head hanging in shame as he remembers the way they handled the situation. "I'm so sorry. I am. Moving was just a knee-jerk reaction, okay? They wanted me to get an authentic feel for Bond, and I dumbly agreed because I thought you and I were done. And then I made the mistake of telling Alexis the very next day about Europe, and once I did there was no coming back. You know her, once she sets her mind on something, it's impossible to say no to those big, manipulative, baby blues of hers. She got so excited for a semester abroad, I couldn't say just say no, you know?"

Her eyes soften, the fire in them dying down, and a hint of a smile graces her pink lips. A tiny, precarious thing that she smothers when she voices her next question.

"Why didn't you call?"

"The first few months were so overwhelming," he supplies, gentle eyes pleading hers. "By the time things settled, I got a call from Ryan and I found out about Josh. So I thought you'd moved on and there was no point anymore. I don't know, it sounds pretty slim now."

She closes her eyes, gulping down before she pivots her face to stare him down.

"Kate-"

"Castle, I'm really tired right now," she states simply, no emotion swirling in the golden flecks of her eyes.

He has to reign in the flame inside his chest that wants to surround her, wrap himself around her till she's his. He has to stifle the need to say _no you're not, you just want to hide from your feelings._

"Castle, go home. I'll call you, okay? I just want to sleep now," her mumbled words against the pillow bring him back to his surroundings. This brittle, more wounded version of the woman of his dreams urging him to leave her alone.

 _Never again._

He figures he could roam around the cafeteria for a while, the absence of solid food in his diet becoming a cramping reminder. With that in mind, he gets up from the chair beside her bed and, because he needs to soothe his heavy soul, he leans down to rest his soft lips against her temple. Stays to breathe her in, even as she stiffens under him.

"I missed you, Kate."

The words ghost against her skin, and he departs before her translucent eyelids could crease any further.

* * *

She rouses disoriented, her chest on a slow simmer. The beeping won't stop. There are cold hands on hers and she squeezes them on instinct, trying to hold on lest the fire roaring inside of her chest engulfs her.

The pain resides till it's a low flame after a few minutes. All the while those hands ground her, bending and molding around hers till they are entwined.

She opens her eyes to the skies stretching above. Such a thunderous, cerulean blue. Her lashes flutter till the swirling dots clear from her vision to reveal his face inches from hers.

His eyes, oh, how she's missed them.

Her fingers sail through the meagre space between them, till they land on the rough five o'clock shadow curving around his cheek. She traces her tips around the dark bruises beneath the shell of his irises. The lids fall down, cloaking them, when she moons over the line of his nose, scaling its edges.

Her hands framing his face propel him down, closer, _closer_ , till she can kiss the curtains of his eyes. She whispers the kiss along his skin, feels it tremor against her lips and she never wants to stop.

Feathering her lips across his eyes, his cheeks - a frenzy in her movements now that cannot be quelled. He's panting, the short puffs caress her neck, and she wants his lips on hers _now_.

His hands grab her shoulders with a fierce grip and she thinks this is it, the kiss she's been fantasizing about for over a year, the one where they will annihilate each other's souls for anyone else, ruin themselves in the best way possible. Instead, he halts her and disengages, heaving as he does so.

It's the wrong way. He needs to move closer, on her, with her. Her blood is still singing, skin pulsing under the pads of his fingers. She's missed him so much. It's a physical ache in her soul.

 _Castle, Castle, Castle._

Wait.

"Castle?"

"Stop, Beckett," he pants. "You're flooded with drugs; you don't even know what you're doing. We can't do this right now-"

His lips are curling against incomprehensible syllables, and she can feel the blush heating up her skin. She buries her head in her palms, bending sideways to squash it against the pillow. It does nothing to sheath her from the nervous chuckle that escapes from his undoubtedly proud face.

His stupid, gorgeous face. The one she almost just made out with on her hospital bed.

"Didn't I tell you to leave? _Castle_ ," she whines, the desire to pin it all on him and her doped up brain overcoming her with a force.

He laughs, the rich notes booming across the room till they embed in her heart. She's missed him so much.

"I did, a year ago. Look where you end up when I leave you alone for too long?" he says, a phantom grimace in place, wondering whether they're ready to joke about it yet.

She remains quiet, studying his form as he takes his chair and moves it closer to the rails of her bed. Silence blankets them and they are left with their raw, cavernous expressions open for interpretation.

"Are you really here?" she whispers, coiling her palm around the sterile white bar on the periphery of her bed.

"I am."

His hand travels to the metal frame, resting a few centimeters from her.

"You gonna leave again?" her words slur, as the cocktail of drugs in her system draw her towards another slumber.

He sighs, locks his pinkie with hers, trepidation coating the words that escape from his mouth. "Where would I go? All my paths lead back to you."

Her somber, mournful look dissolves till it's a radiant, dopey smile gracing her face and he feels his heart defrost, the shackles of his ribs shattering like the ice between them. He flashes her his brightest one in return, watches as she tries to battle the pull of sleep in her drooping eyes.

"Sleep, Kate."

He'll be here when she wakes up.

* * *

AN: I'm ridiculously happy that so many of you seem to like this story.

Ericka, thank you for existing and making everything i write actually readable. :)

twitter: inherwanderings  
tumblr: inherwanderings


End file.
